


Radioactive

by Arabeth_thea



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: American Politics, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabeth_thea/pseuds/Arabeth_thea
Summary: “For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”― Nelson MandelaModern AU One Shot.When peace and progress in the United States of Panem is threatened by the election of a new president, Katniss Everdeen decides to take matters into her own hands.





	Radioactive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @loveinpanem's Spring Showers April challenge.
> 
> This story was inspired by a number of things!  
> The Firebird by merciki (@thegirlfromoverthepond on tumblr) as well as the chapter imagery by @akai-echo (also on tumblr)  
> Song inspiration and title from Imagine Dragon’s Radioactive  
> Imagery of the ballet Giselle  
> Last, but not least, Mockingjay  
> Also inspired by recent events in the USA involving the Rockettes and their controversy over performing, the Presidential Inauguration, and the attacks on groups mentioned (the list mentioned is NOT comprehensive). The ballet dancer that inspired my Katniss is Michaela DePrince   
> *I own nothing*
> 
> A million thanks to katnissdoesnotfollowback (same name on tumblr, check out her stories!) for all of her help with this! Thank you for the beta work, recommendations and ballet help! This is my first Everlark story (besides a bigger one in the works…), so I hope you enjoy!

Backstage is hauntingly quiet. The lack of bodies stretching, the whisper of fabric, the buzz of excitement before a performance. Each time her pointe shoes creak, she looks around, expecting another presence. She wonders vaguely if she is disturbing the ghosts around her. When she remembers where she is, her anxiety peaks, causing her to still, listening for approaching voices. Someone who has found her out, to drag her away before she can perform. As she planned, she waits in the wings with only her thoughts to keep her company. She has to be alone for what she is about to do. She can’t endanger anyone she loves. This dance is meant to protect them.

When their manager, Seneca, gave them the news that they were to perform at the Inauguration of the new President, shouts of outrage drowned out most of his explanation. Many refused outright, others sat in shock. Katniss remembers comforting their youngest dancer, Rue, as she cried. Some were unaffected, but with the outcry of their fellow dancers, the consensus was a refusal for the National Ballet of Panem to perform. Seneca informed them that they _couldn’t_ refuse according to their contracts, but he would appeal to management on their behalf.

When the new President's administration submitted the special requests for the performance, mere words couldn’t describe how they felt. The white women would get the leads, dressed in flowing white satin and tulle; a picture of perfection. It was no secret that the new President had an obsession with white roses, and he believed in the superiority of whiteness in all things. The women of color would act only as props to the white dancers in subservient and degrading roles. Katniss couldn’t stand the hopelessness in the faces of her fellow dancers, who had worked their whole lives to get where they were. She knew this dejection and fear went far beyond this performance on a national stage. She needed to do something. _Anything_.

A few weeks later, Seneca had lost his job and Katniss had formed a plan. The National Ballet would still technically perform, and she would save her comrades the indignity of having to do it. Their new manager, Plutarch Heavensbee, had shocked them all when he had taken them out for post-rehearsal drinks. At the little dive bar around the corner, he revealed his deep-seated opposition to President Snow, and his true condolences in their situation. So when Katniss approached him about finding an alternative, he was all ears. Katniss had thought long and hard about this performance. She knew all about overcoming impossible odds. Her entire life had been a battle against the odds. Not only had she come from war-torn Sierra Leone, orphaned, and ostracized for her skin condition, she had chosen ballet. Rather, ballet had chosen her, and she faced impossible odds every day for being a rare ballerina of color. She was a fighter. One of the people. In this she had her answer.

Portia, their choreographer, helped her develop the routine off the books. The costume Cinna designed is a work of art. And Peeta, _her_ Peeta. A fellow dancer and her partner, he supports her no matter what. But of course, President Snow didn’t want any male dancers, only female. He is a disgusting human being. Bile rises from Katniss’ stomach each time she even thinks his name. Peeta did all he could to help her prepare. He learned the dance backwards, so he could help lead her. He even researched the symbol she used, the Mockingjay, the triumph of the downtrodden from the last revolution. The symbol of the Mockingjay represented those that society forgets or _tries_ to forget. Different races, ethnicities, religions, immigrants, sexualities, and disabilities won rights in the last revolution. They had been slowly gaining ground, but President Snow’s election threatened to take that all away. Katniss wanted to remind them that they refused to bow, refused to be pieces in his games, and together, she and Peeta found a way to revive the symbol.

She wishes Peeta were with her now. Whispering words of encouragement as she stares at her reflection. She can almost feel him behind her, and imagining his broad warmth gives her the feeling of security she needs to get through this. Although she has worked hard to get to the point where she accepts her appearance, it is still a battle for her to love her skin, mottled with vitiligo. Peeta helps with that. His artist’s eye seems to be able to describe so many details, and when it comes to her, he leaves nothing out. He talks about the kinks in her hair like the branches of the trees in springtime; and even her skin is the earth dappled in moonlight. She chuckles at his flowery tendencies, then contemplates how different she will look to someone like President Snow. How two people of the same racial background can be so different is mind boggling.

She shifts her eyes down and examines her costume. All those hours spent planning and she looks exactly how she pictured. Cinna outdid himself. Her bodice hugs her body, woven with black, grey and white tulle and glittering with black gems to mimic the creosote of a spent fire. A splotchy formation of a Mockingjay shimmers like blood leaking from her heart sewn in crimson satin. It becomes a steady stream as it flows into her skirt, made of the same ashy tulle colors. The back is the reverse of the same design, the satin flowing to the bottom of her calf-length skirt. Her grey tights and shoes contrast with the vibrant, shimmering satin. A dainty, but solid black crown sits atop her head, holding in place the sheer white shroud she will wear until the big reveal of the Mockingjay.

_Who is she kidding?_

As soon as her song begins to play instead of the traditional Capitol anthem, there will be confusion. The program reads the original performance, not her altered one. The music will be a shock all on its own, and yet they will have no choice but to televise it to the entire country.

She is pulled from her musings by commotion on the other side of the stage, but she decides to focus on the routine as the National Ballet of Panem is announced. Everything is set. One of their allies, Beetee, is working on recording, so even if the government cuts the broadcast short, it can be leaked later. Cressida and Messalla are running production on the show. Pollux is on sound and Castor on lights. She straightens her back, lowers her shroud, and holds her head high. She is ready.

She makes her way in the dark to her position on the stage and lays down. She takes a few calming breaths, willing her hands to stop shaking. She arranges the shroud around her, straightens her legs, and crosses her arms over her chest in the burial position, wiping the sweat subtlety on her bodice. The stage is empty except for her. When she hears the first beats of the song, the spotlight comes on and begins to brighten. She starts to pulse her arms over her heart with the song; weak at first, then getting stronger. The shroud flutters around, giving the heartbeat an ethereal appearance. Then she begins to twitch her legs upward, as her body is coming to life. The music's volume covers any reaction from the audience, but she smirks a little, imagining the President’s displeasure. His campaign was insistent on "taking the country back to traditional values," so this rock song is in complete opposition to his image. It would also seem like a slap in the face to his supporters, who would have expected him to choose something more appropriate at his Inauguration. Win-win.

**I'm waking up to ash and dust**  
**I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust**  
**I'm breathing in the chemicals  
** _**[Inhale, exhale]** _

Just before her cue, she stills throwing her arms out wide. Then, with the song, she inhales exaggeratedly arching her back, then exhales so she is flat back on the ground. She arises from the stage in one graceful move, fully revived.

**I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus**  
**This is it, the apocalypse**

She starts out with jerkier movements, a freed prisoner relearning their body. Through her dance, she breaks free of those bonds, then becomes more and more graceful in her movements. Likewise, her leaps and pirouettes start smaller and choppier and her arms only go so high. As the dance goes on, she progresses to various arabesques, while her arms extend higher into the air with the shroud, resembling a bird in flight.

She knows every step of this routine, can even perform it with her eyes closed. Peeta spent hours practicing with her. He helped lead her with a gentle hand when necessary, so that she could perform without a dress rehearsal and under a shroud that would distort her vision. She can’t see the audience on the best of nights, but this is a whole new level of isolation. She feels alone on stage, without her fellow dancers, and most of all, without Peeta. Fear bubbles up inside as what she is doing hits her. The overt act of rebellion. She calms herself with the knowledge that she is using her abilities to fight for the freedom of millions. She notices how the single spotlight causes the performance to feel differently than the well lit studio. _Wait - single spotlight?_ Only one spotlight illuminates her, but there should be more lights. Strange. She keeps going, because it is a small detail and she has to concentrate on her next sequence.

**I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones**  
**Enough to make my system blow**  
**Welcome to the new age, to the new age**  
**Welcome to the new age, to the new age**  
**Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive**  
**Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive**

During the chorus, she knows something is wrong. She still wears the shroud, but she can make out movement around her. Are the guards going to take her away mid performance? Can they do that? What now? _“Keep dancing, always keep dancing,”_ Katniss tells herself, over and over, in time with her steps.

**I raise my flag and dye my clothes**  
**It's a revolution, I suppose**

At these lyrics, multiple spotlights come to life. Katniss recognizes the shapes of other dancers around her. Other dancers? They are wearing shrouds and laying in the same position she was when she began her performance. At the word “revolution” they stand in unison, sending a clear message. That she doesn’t stand alone.

**We're painted red to fit right in**

On her cue, she whips off the shroud so that it hangs behind her, signifying that she is shedding her burial clothes, and is now alive and well. She is revived by the music, the call of those who need revolution once again, her symbolic bleeding Mockingjay heart on full display. The symbol carved in her heart, a part of her, something that she cannot and will not hide. At that moment, the rest of the dancers do the same, revealing painted red Mockingjays on their faces. Katniss feels elated, and worried and… empowered. Peeta must have been behind this. He was the only one who knew everything.

When she dances the next chorus, she feels even more grace and definition in her movements. She is energized, her petite body feels a thousand feet tall. Each time she touches the ground, she imagines the aftershocks of an earthquake rippling out from the epicenter. She is a force of nature, not to be ignored. The other dancers give her a wide berth, forming a loose horseshoe around her, and dance with small, quick movements. They are a part of the dance, but are clearly in deference to her. Her arms flow upwards fluidly, she feels the power in her calves, and her pulse thumps with adrenaline. A sheen of sweat covers her skin, but she isn’t tired, she is electrified. In this single performance, she has more hope that she is making a difference than she has ever felt in her entire life.

**I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones**  
**Enough to make my system blow**  
**Welcome to the new age, to the new age**  
**Welcome to the new age, to the new age**

This is what she wanted. She wanted to give people hope. If someone like her is willing stand up to President Snow, others can do it too. Her friends surround her, those who wanted to step up and stand with her against the tyrant. She sees men in the ranks, supporting the women, and it is beautiful. A mix of races supporting one another. Including Peeta, who dashes out during the bridge to dance with her.

**All systems go, the sun hasn't died**  
**Deep in my bones, straight from inside**

When he takes her hand, she sees uncertainty in his eyes. He is asking her a question, _“Is there anything I have to apologize for?”_ She responds the only way she can under the circumstances, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, and a quirk of the lips. At his brilliant smile, she knows he understands. She thinks, _“the sun definitely hasn’t died, it is standing right in front of me.”_ She basks in his steadiness, his warmth and marvels at his absolute willingness to throw his lot in with hers. It is with this hope that she dances into the final chorus and the grand finale. She dances with her partner, and they never once let go of each other’s hands. Of course they will go into this as one.

**Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive**

On the final note, she reaches down and grasps the pointed ends of the crimson satin, holding them outstretched like wings while on pointe. Peeta’s strong hands brace her, holding her waist, supporting her both literally and figuratively. She allows herself a moment to relish in what they have accomplished. Hijacking such a high profile performance to give hope to those who thought that hate was winning is huge. Behind her, the massive black screen bursts into flames in the shape of the Mockingjay, flying free. To her surprise and elation, all the dancers present, of which there were more than she originally thought, turn their backs to the president, kiss the middle three fingers of their left hand, and raise them to salute the Mockingjay symbol behind her.

Castor kills the lights and the flames on the screen behind her spread until everything burns. They won’t go down without a fight. They won’t stand alone. The lights come back on for their bows, and Katniss finally sees President Snow’s look of hatred. Yes, there will be hell to pay, but if she made a difference today, it will be worth it. Peeta’s arms embrace her, and as he leads her out the back doors directly to their bus, she knows, no matter how long it takes, everything could be good again someday.

They’re in this together, _always_.

**Author's Note:**

> I love discussion, and I know this piece is a bit controversial. It has been screaming at me to write it for some time now, so I hope you enjoyed it. The theme of the April Showers challenge is hope, and I wanted to send that message with this story. We may not have a Mockingjay, but every one of you out there has value, and I want you to know that!


End file.
